


Souvenirs

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, So so so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: A little story about enteral love
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91





	Souvenirs

**Author's Note:**

> I’m eating Burmese food.

He’d been taking things, little mementos here and there for centuries, for millennia. How could he not? There had been the feather up on the Wall, and the apple core in the Garden. That was the beginning of a life long obsession. 

There were so many cups, purloined from bars and restaurants whose happy hours specials were only remembered by two eternal beings. Anything that his lips touched, it found its way into an ever growing collection. He had a pocket dimension in the bathroom cupboard full of cups in all different shapes, sizes, and substances.

There were bedroom drawers dedicated solely to stolen bits of clothing, their spaces full of buttons and belts. There were chests with abundances of ribbons and lace from every era, and even a closet, or two, or nine brimming with hats, scarves, cloaks, and even a shoe or two. 

There was a small library, a corner dedicated to nicked bits of his writing from pubs and bars, along side the letters that had been more freely given. Quite a few government offices were missing vital paperwork because they’d had the misfortune of having his penmanship upon them.

And then there was the little random decorative boxes of odds and ends, littered sporadically throughout the shelves. Most notably, their spaces hid oyster shells, a pair of black leather gloves, and a ruined pair of shoes he had left behind all on his own.

On occasion, items were taken out and admired when he knew he was truly alone, hidden safety behind wards and spells. The other half of a kiss was pressed to the rims of those cups and other glassware. Clothing was rubbed against soft heated cheeks, the lingering scent breathed in deep to savor. Hordes of rare treasure were reveled in when life decided to bring him down low. He would remind himself that the other existed, even if he didn’t exist for him, and that was enough. 

But then it all changed! 

Glasses remained on their tables because their lips were upon their own. Clothing was left on his floor willingly. Mementos were openly gifted to him, no need for slight of hand or misdirection. 

“Azirpahale...what is all this? Is that my hat? That is my hat! Thought I lost it back in 47’.” Crowley saying it like it wasn’t almost two hundred years ago

“You did. Lose it.” Aziraphale tried to buy some time, cursing inwardly at himself. They were in the process of moving Crowley into Aziraphale’s flat above the bookshop. Aziraphale thought he had been thorough about clearing out any trace of Crowley’s things, putting them into storage elsewhere. The smart thing to have done was toss everything out, but the angel couldn’t bear to part with anything, not even one single button.

“One of many it looks like.” Crowley said as he began to sort through it all. This particular closet was dedicated to Crowley’s hats from the last 500 years or so. It was a horde of headwear in the rainbow spectrum of red, grey, and black with one exception of a bright orange bonnet. Crowley had never explained why he had the ugly thing. Aziraphale never gave him much of a chance to either. There was also a small barrel of buttons from various ages.

“Souvenirs. By God, you’ve been collecting souvenirs.” Crowley said in awe. 

“Don’t drag her into this. She got nothing to do with it.” Aziraphale snapped, one of his worst nightmares coming to life. “I just wanted something to remember you by. It may have gotten out of hand.”

“You think? You have hand carved buttons from Mesopotamia.” Crowley grinned. He couldn’t help it, though Aziraphale was looking rather miserable about the whole ordeal. “I’m not mad, angel. I’m more impressed than anything. I mean, I knew you were a hoarder-“

“Collector.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Crowley snorted, “I knew you...gathered things, but I apparently had no clue to what extent. You’ve held on to buttons for 5,000 years.”

“More than that.” Aziraphale muttered, his distress beginning to ease up. 

“Oh, c’mon now. You can’t say something like that, and not show me.” Crowley said, leaning in to kiss that lingering frown off of Aziraphale’s face. 

“Very well.” Aziraphale sighed, leading the demon to their bedroom. The angel pulled out a book from his nightstand drawer, an ancient bible that locked its pages, from a time period when reading was considering a powerful gift meant for the few and far between. It was so blessed that Crowley already knew that it would burn his hands to touch it. 

“I don’t get it.” Crowley said as he watched Aziraphale unlock the Bible with a touch to show the demon that there was space hollowed out inside of it. At the center of the bible lay five golden apple seeds from the Tree of Life, and a single black feather. 

Aziraphale could have knocked the demon over with that feather without even really trying. “You’ve loved me since the beginning.” Crowley realized aloud. 

“Of course I have.” Aziraphale said in that tone of voice that didn’t suggest that you were an idiot because obviously you were. It did until it softening into low tones that professed immense depths of personal horror. “You really didn’t know?”

Crowley refused to make a sound of any kind because Aziraphale looked ready to shatter. He stared back at Crowley with wide glassy eyes as the weight of millennia bore down upon him, so much misunderstood history between them. 

“You didn’t know.” Aziraphale said with more finality, driving the emotional knife in deeper into himself to twist. 

“Don’t apologize.” Was all Crowley could put to words. “Not to fault. Did your best.”

“I could say I’m sorry every two seconds for next century, and it wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about it.”

“Please don’t. Sounds rather tiresome.” Crowley said as he reached for his angel. He hugged Aziraphale close, the angel tucking himself under the demon’s sharp chin to hide his face in Crowley’s chest. “I know how you can make it up to me”

“How?” Was the muffled reply that sounded and felt a little wet. Crowley never thought he would see the day where he reveled in angel snot.

“Keep me for the rest of it. Till this all ends, and even beyond that. Do that, and I’ll call it even.” Crowley said, his offer making Aziraphale look up at him.

“I think I can manage that.” Aziraphale smiling again, and really, that’s all Crowley wanted. 

“Is that my bonnet?”

“Afraid so.”

“Bloody hell, you really did take anything that wasn’t nailed down. I had that for less than a day.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Aziraphale said, wearing a strange look on his face. Crowley didn’t get to question him about it, the demon finding himself gathered up in the angel’s arms, Aziraphale stealing the rest of him into the bed.

“I’m not getting it back, am I?”

“No, not at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your kudos steal the orange bonnet! Your comments try on all the hats!


End file.
